I was already weighed down with packages and bags and thought I was done, but as I was leaving the store I noticed a mannequin wearing a black silk, sleeveless, wraparound evening dress. It had a wide, deep V-neck and a bowknot sash at the waist. It had been accessorized with an intricate necklace made of red stones. I bought both without trying them on. On another floor in the shoe department I found a pair of red high heels to match.
It was nearly six o’clock when the taxi dropped me at the entrance of my temporary home. When I got into the apartment I realized that Ivan was already in. I always knew when he was around. The atmosphere became electric. I went into the kitchen and, firing up the kettle, switched it on. I was sitting at the island with my sweet tea when he walked in wearing a dinner jacket and pale yellow shirt.
I did not dare stare but, my, my, what a very attractive specimen he was. Speaking totally neutrally of course. I’m not interested in him like that.
‘Thank you for the flowers,’ I said. ‘They’re very beautiful.’
‘Yes, I guessed you’d need a bit more time before you snared your next conquest.’
My shoulders slumped. For a second I looked at my bare feet. Wow, that hurt. I felt wounded, actually. Maybe because I had not been expecting it. I looked up at him. ‘Did you send me flowers so you’d have another excuse to insult me?’
He stared at me and I could tell that he regretted what he had said. ‘That was uncalled for. I’m sorry,’ he muttered finally.
‘It’s OK,’ I said softly.
‘You’re going to be OK on your own?’
I smiled. ‘Yeah. I like my own company anyway.’
‘Good night, then,’ he called moving away.
‘Ivan,’ I called.
He turned back around, one eyebrow raised.
‘Have a nice night.’
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. He must have thought better of it because he shook his head, smiled at me, and walked away.
Chapter 14
Tawny Maxwell
I sat staring at my cold tea. Without him the apartment felt so empty. I stood up and paced the kitchen restlessly. I couldn’t get the image of him as he hesitated, out of mind. The moment was like a splinter in my flesh. He was out having a good time. Everybody was out.
I felt lost and lonely.
Maybe I should go out for a walk, but it was probably a bad idea to be wandering about aimlessly on my own on Valentine’s night. What I needed was something to do. I should watch a movie. Or read a book. My eyes fell on the lemons in the stainless steel lemons basket. I knew what I wanted to do.
Bake a cake. A lemon cake like the ones that my grandma pulled out of her oven. Lemon cakes were simple things to do and all the ingredients were sure to be in the house. Besides, baking always calmed me. I’d probably have to beat the cake by hand, but that might be a good thing considering the state I was in. Burn off some of that excess energy bubbling inside.
I looked in the fridge and the cupboards, and the only things I was missing were a pound of unsalted butter and kitchen scales, but I had made this sort of cake often enough that I could probably guess at the measurements and get it right. As for the butter, I could pop down to the Newsagent that was less than a ten-minute walk away for it.
I put on my coat, picked up the extra key that Ivan had left out for me and went out of the door. As I pulled it shut behind me I saw a gentleman put his key into the apartment door at the opposite end of the corridor. I only hesitated for one second.
‘Excuse me,’ I called out.
He turned around slowly. He was good looking in a very English sort of way, dark brown hair, pale skin, nice, boyish eyes and proper. Very proper.
‘Yes, can I help you?’
I walked up to him and smiled. ‘I’m temporarily living at the end of the corridor and I was wondering if you have a kitchen scales that I could borrow?’
His eyes filled with amusement. ‘I thought neighbors usually wanted to borrow a cup of sugar?’
I grinned. ‘I’ve got that. I’m trying to bake a cake.’
He put his hand out. ‘Ralph Drummond-Willoughby.’
I placed my hand into his. ‘Tawny Maxwell.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Ah, the American heiress everyone is talking about is hiding out in my block.’
I grinned. ‘You won’t tell anyone will you?’
He smiled rakishly. ‘Not if you promise to share a slice of your cake.’
‘Deal.’
He pushed open his door. ‘Come in. There should be a kitchen scales around somewhere.’
I followed him into his apartment. To my surprise it was decorated in a very similar manner to Ivan’s apartment. ‘Who decorated your apartment?’